


Space That You Now Hold

by GotTheSilver



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Future Fic, Getting Together, Hand Jobs, M/M, Wolf Instincts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-22 11:48:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/912846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GotTheSilver/pseuds/GotTheSilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Oh my God,” Stiles mumbles.  “What the hell am I meant to do with this?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Stiles, hush.” Allison elbows him.  “Derek brought it for you.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Allison understands, she can tell what he’s doing.  The wolf whines, doesn’t know why Stiles isn’t getting it.  He should be getting it.  Letting go of the buck, Derek steps forward and rests a hand on Stiles’ thigh.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Space That You Now Hold

**Author's Note:**

> so there was [this](http://likeairplanelights.tumblr.com/post/57208566962) TFLN graphic and I did things in the tags. And then [it was demanded that it should be written](http://alltruthwaitsinallthings.tumblr.com/post/57209082896/i-now-just-want-a-fic-where-derek-licks-stiles).
> 
> so it was.
> 
> there is less licking than I planned on, though.
> 
> this is set sometime in senior year where Stiles has already turned 18 and everything is happy. also, everyone is alive because I want them to be.
> 
> Title from Mirrors by JT.

Derek’s only partially aware that he’s all wolf right now, that he’s running towards Stiles at a speed most would call desperate, but he can’t stop his wolf from focusing on Stiles on the ground, his face in the mud. It’s not _right_ , his wolf keeps insisting. He has to be helped and, after fighting off a group of pixies, Derek can’t summon up the strength to suppress that part of him. Stiles is already scrambling to his feet when Derek reaches him, uselessly attempting to brush the leaves and mud off his clothes; he startles when Derek grips him by the shoulders, mouth dropping open like he wants to ask a question, but when Derek swipes his tongue over Stiles’ forehead, his mouth slams shut. Carefully making sure his claws don’t scratch Stiles— _can’t hurt him, won’t hurt him_ —Derek cradles Stiles’ face in his hands and moves it around as his tongue licks at the mud splashed skin.

Noises slip from Stiles’ mouth as Derek cleans his skin. Even the wolf thinks the taste is disgusting; crunched up leaves and sticky mud that clogs up his throat and almost makes him cough, but underneath it is the taste of _Stiles_ , and the wolf is eager to get to that. Nervous energy radiates from Stiles when Derek’s fangs accidentally scrape against his throat and Derek whines, licking over the spot as an apology. He would _never_ bite Stiles, not like that, not unless he wanted it. When he’s done, he takes a few steps back, his hands still cradling Stiles’ face, entirely satisfied by the way his saliva shines in the moonlight.

Stiles frowns, circling his fingers around one of Derek’s wrists. “Derek?” His voice is slightly hoarse, pink tongue running over his bottom lip. “I’m okay, dude. You can let go.” Stiles’ heart skips a little, but Derek can’t scent a lie, so he lets go, his hands falling to his side. Scuffing his foot in the dirt, he looks at Stiles who is staring back at him with his eyes wide. “I, uh. I’m guessing you’re in there somewhere? Man, you’re gonna be so pissed when you realise what you just did. Okay,” Stiles sighs, his hands running through his hair. “I’m gonna go. Tell Scott and the others—are you even going to remember this? Shit. I’ll text Scott, but I’ve got to get home before my dad does, especially looking like this.” He waves a hand over his body with a wry smile. “Don’t want him worrying for no reason, and it’s not like you can lick the rest of me clean.” Stiles tentatively touches Derek’s face, fingertips brushing against the fur, thumb catching at the corner of his mouth. There’s a slight hitch in his breath when Derek leans into the touch; Stiles quickly removes his hand and Derek ruthlessly stamps down on the whine threatening to escape from his mouth. “Yeah. Uh. I’m going.” Stiles turns on his heel, throwing Derek an inscrutable look when he closes the door to his jeep and drives off.

The howl that rumbles from Derek’s chest as he watches the jeep pull away is primal, uncensored pain and he doesn’t understand why Stiles is going. Dropping down, he races off, not waiting for the rest of his rag tag pack to come back, needing to be alone.

*

Derek wakes up in a cave, deep in the preserve, jeans almost shredded, his shirt totally gone. Blinking, he looks around, totally confused as to how he ended up here— _why_ he’s here. He remembers the pixies, remembers their vicious teeth tearing into his flesh, and explosions? There were explosions. He thinks. And Stiles. Stiles was, on the ground? Derek shakes his head, stretching his limbs out. He’s never been great at remembering things when he goes fully wolf, only knows the basics, the things he taught Scott. It’s laughable really, how little he knows about himself.

He’s crashing through a stream when it hits him.

His tongue.

Stiles’ face.

Derek slips on a rock and lands in the water, it splashes against his almost bare ass and he groans, head in his hands. There’s absolutely no way this is going to end well.

*

Through a rare kind of a luck that he doesn’t understand, Derek doesn’t see Stiles for almost a whole week. He’s got so used to Stiles being in his space, turning up all hours at the apartment and being _everywhere_ , that to not have him around feels strange. Derek catches himself looking over his shoulder several times, expecting Stiles to be behind him. When Cora catches him lying on the couch with his face in the cushion Stiles hugs during movie nights, she throws a stapler at his ass and kicks him out for the night.

He probably deserves it.

There’s a coffee shop that stays open late, Derek has no idea what a shop like this is doing in Beacon Hills, but he’s thankful because going to a bar would mean dealing with people. If he was able to get drunk, he might feel differently, but he hates bars. People either try and hit on him, or they try and fight him, and both of those things end up with Derek wanting to claw his own face off. At the coffee shop, he can hide in a corner with his sickly sweet coffee and a book and no one bothers him.

So of course when he walks into Beacon Bean, the first thing he smells is Stiles, above the scent of the coffee. It’s not faded, it’s strong and that means... yeah. When Derek looks around the shop, he spots him instantly. Spots that he’s with someone _else_. Someone wearing a douchey hat. Stiles is laughing, with douchey hat guy resting his hand in the crook of Stiles’ elbow. The scent of blood reaches his nose and Derek realises that it’s his blood, that his claws are out, digging into his skin and _shit_. His wolf is scratching at him, demanding they go over and drag Stiles away from the stranger and Derek can’t give in, not in public. The woman behind the counter takes his order, he gets it to go because he can’t sit down with Stiles that close to him, not with his wolf demanding for them to go and assault whoever it is Stiles is on a date with. And it is a date, there’s no other reason for Stiles to be laughing so much, for that guy to be touching him, and Derek and his wolf _hate_ that someone else is able to make Stiles laugh like that.

When the barista calls out his name, Derek doesn’t need to look to know that Stiles hears it. The curiosity that’s always in his scent spikes and when Derek turns around, he meets Stiles’ eyes, frowning when he sees the flush on Stiles’ cheeks. Nope. He’s not dealing with this right now. Derek nods at Stiles, takes his coffee and walks out of the shop.

He’s halfway home before he realises they forgot to add the caramel.

*

They all get together for full moons now, everyone has learnt to control themselves and Stiles has termed it wolf playtime. Because he’s Stiles. Currently, Stiles is perched on the kitchen counter eating marshmallows out of the packet, stretching his mouth to obscene degrees. Derek is very pointedly _not_ looking.

“Did you tell your dad we’re running tonight?” he says instead. Stiles nods vigorously, his sticky sweet smelling hand waving in the air to signify something, but even Derek can’t understand that. “Swallow,” Derek says automatically, too late to realise the implications of what he’s said. Judging by the way Stiles’ mouth falls open, his mind has jumped to the exact image Derek has been trying to keep out of his mind. “I mean. No.” Clenching his fists, he walks out of the kitchen and sinks into his recliner, watching Cora and Isaac wrestle around like puppies in front of the television.

“Where’s Stiles?” Scott says as he walks through the door.

“Kitchen. Allison not with you?”

“She’s coming later. Something about picking up snacks for the humans.” Scott grins as Isaac tugs him down into the pile.

If Allison brings hot dogs, Derek may actually kill her.

*

There’s a squirrel and Derek’s sure that’s enough, but his wolf protests. No, that’s not good enough. _Rabbit?_ Derek suggests as one darts by his nose, and his wolf disagrees again. _What then?_ he wonders as Erica runs past him after the rabbit. Then he sees it, a buck only a few trees away. _Perfect_.

When he brings it down, he howls, blood still dripping from his mouth. His betas are scattered throughout the preserve, but come running when they hear him. Scott’s the first one to approach, his face screwed up in disgust even in wolf form. Derek’s wolf can’t understand what the problem is; he’s brought down a buck, he’s going to give it to Stiles and Stiles will understand why he can’t go on dates with other people. Cora’s laughing, her face hidden in Boyd’s shoulder, and Derek growls at them before sinking his claws into the buck, ready to drag it back to where Stiles is having a campfire with the others.

The smoke in the air almost makes him panic, but there’s the sound of Stiles laughing, of Lydia and Allison talking, and it soothes his wolf. He drags the buck through the gap in the trees, pulls it with his claws until it’s next to Stiles. Sitting back on his haunches, Derek gazes at Stiles, one hand on the neck of the buck, showing Stiles how he brought him down.

“Oh my God,” Stiles mumbles. “What the hell am I meant to do with this?”

“Stiles, hush.” Allison elbows him. “Derek brought it for you.”

Allison understands, she can tell what he’s doing. The wolf whines, doesn’t know why Stiles isn’t getting it. He _should_ be getting it. Letting go of the buck, Derek steps forward and rests a hand on Stiles’ thigh.

“Hey Derek,” Stiles sighs. Derek butts his head against Stiles’ shoulder and takes a deep breath, inhaling Stiles’ scent. He reeks of confusion, which hurts, but he’s not scared and the wolf preens at that. “You’re being ridiculous, you know that?” His reaches up and runs a hand through Derek’s matted hair, fingers tugging lightly on the facial fur.

Derek growls a little when he hears Lydia laughing but then Stiles’ hand slips to his chest, rubbing circles against the bare skin and he wilts, head dropping.

“Oh,” Stiles says quietly. “Okay.” He doesn’t remove his hand and the rough sensation of his palm makes Derek’s wolf huff; he wants to roll over, let Stiles smooth his hands down to his belly and curl up at his feet. Derek can barely exert enough control to stop himself from doing that, and it scares him how easy it would be to let go and give over everything to Stiles. There’s a low rumble in his chest and he can hear Allison and Lydia walking off, his betas running with them. The small campfire crackles in the background, but Derek is focused on Stiles as he moves, his head slipping into Stiles’ lap. “Uh. Derek?” Stiles’ voice is pitched high, heart speeding up a little, and Derek grumbles, mouth opening and his fangs lightly rest on Stiles’ thigh. It’s not a threat and his wolf is satisfied when Stiles seems to realise that, his heartrate getting back to it’s familiar steady thud.

“Guess we’re staying here, huh?” Stiles says fondly, hands touching Derek’s skin. “Of course my night ends with an animal corpse next to me and an alpha werewolf in my lap.” Derek turns his head towards Stiles’ crotch, senses suddenly flooded with Stiles’ scent, and he whimpers, claws scrabbling in the dirt. “Hey. Dude, come on. Fuck,” Stiles groans out the curse as he attempts to move Derek. “Here. You want to stay out here with me, right?” He lies down on the blanket furthest away from the buck and pats the space next to him. “Come here.”

Derek’s jeans are shredded, again, and he’s coated with blood and muck again, but there’s nothing about Stiles that says he minds as Derek splays out on top of him. His wolf insists that they have to keep Stiles warm, have to _protect_ him; and Derek sticks his face in the crook of Stiles’ neck, arms and legs tangling together as Stiles lets him do this. If it wouldn’t deafen Stiles, he would howl with pleasure, but he settles for rubbing his nose against Stiles throat. There’s a deep belly laugh from Stiles when he does, so Derek does it again, needing to be the reason for Stiles making that noise.

The touch of Stiles’ hands against his back, pressing into the bunched muscles—one open palm against his tattoo—soon sends him to sleep.

*

When Derek wakes up, the taste in his mouth makes him grimace. The stench of blood hits his nose and he rolls over, groaning when he sees the dead buck across the clearing. He hates having to explain the dwindling deer population to the Sheriff. Stiles is sitting by the extinguished campfire, his chin resting on his knees as he stares at Derek, his fingers twisting together.

“Morning,” Derek says, cautiously sitting up.

“Yeah.”

“Did I...” Derek glances at the dead buck and back at Stiles. “What did I do?”

There’s a small wrinkle between Stiles’ eyebrows as he looks Derek over. “You don’t remember?”

“Flashes, and the taste in my mouth is a hint, but—”

“You killed that buck and brought it to me.”

There’s a screeching noise echoing in Derek’s head because, what? Fuck. “I—”

“And don’t try and say you didn’t do that, because you did. You dragged it through the wood and deliberately put it at my feet.” He stretches his legs out in front of him, leans back on his hands, and shakes his head. “Now, I can hazard a pretty good guess at what that meant to your wolfy brain, but this human needs actual words.”

“You—my wolf, he...” Derek looks away from Stiles and stares at the buck lying in a pool of blood. “No,” he says suddenly, pushing his wolf’s angry reaction down, ignoring the way it claws at his stomach, how he feels sick at doing this. “I’m not going to—” He gets to his feet, shifting quickly and running. Running as fast as he can because Stiles has no hope of catching up with him.

Cora is going to punch him.

*

Stiles doesn’t come over that night. Or the next day. Or the day after that. Derek doesn’t leave the apartment.

Cora did punch him when he got back that day. In the crotch. If Derek hadn’t been in agonising pain, he would’ve been really proud of how his little sister handles things.

Since then she’s been alternating between slapping him around the head and patting his shoulder when he’s on the couch staring into space. He deserves it. No one has come over to the apartment and Derek thinks they’re all judging him. He deserves that as well.

His wolf has been whining, wondering where Stiles has gone, why he isn’t around and it _hurts_ Derek. There’s a part of him that’s curling up and ignoring everything that isn’t Stiles, and he can’t fight it. Doesn’t want to fight it. Wants Stiles to be here with him, in whatever way he’d be happy with, because even being in the same room as Stiles would make his wolf content.

“Hey, sad sack.” Cora leans over the couch and flicks him on the nose, Derek angrily batting her hand away.

“What?”

Walking around the front of the couch, Cora surveys Derek hugging a cushion, his feet on the coffee table, and she raises her eyebrows. “Oh-kay,” she says, dragging the word out. “If I stay here much longer, I’m going to be infected with your inability to do anything positive for your life and that’s not what I came back for. So, I’m going out and you’re going to fix this.”

“There’s nothing to fix.”

Cora smacks his leg. Of course she does. She used to do the same when they were younger and she wanted attention from her big brother.

“Yes there is.”

“No there isn’t.”

“Yes there—oh, no, I’m not letting you drag me into this.” She kicks his knee and, really, Derek is starting to judge his family for the violence. “I’m not going to break the bro code—and shut up I’m totally bros with Stiles—but he’s about as pathetic as you are. Derek, he thinks you don’t like him. And, as gross as it is to think about you having feelings or whatever, I know that’s not true.”

“That’s not it. Not. It’s not just me.”

Cora’s mouth drops open as she sits on the couch, turned towards Derek. “It’s your wolf, isn’t it? Your wolf wants him.” Derek nods miserably and Cora punches him on the arm. “Dumbass.”

“I’m not a dumbass.”

“Yeah, you are. You want him, your wolf wants him. Where exactly is the problem?”

“He’s Stiles.”

Wrinkling her nose, she laughs. “Well, he’s not who I would pick for life, but—”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Then use your words.”

Derek lets out an exasperated noise and glares at her. His wolf is running in circles, happy to be talking about Stiles and he hates it. Hates everything. “He’s stupid smart. He’s got a future, one that doesn’t need me in it, especially for the rest of his life.” When he looks expectantly at Cora, she laughs in his face. He hates his sister the most.

“Sorry, okay. Sorry.” She rests a hand on his arm. “You’re an idiot. You think that Stiles would let you hold him back? Or that he’d resent you? Seriously, Derek, do you know this kid at all?”

“Yes.”

“Really? Okay, I am... done with your stupidity. And I’m late to meet everyone.” Cora jumps off the couch and grabs her jacket. Her hand on the door, she pauses and looks back at Derek. “I was only little, but Derek... remember what mom said? About the person who both you and your wolf want? Why would you not want to have that?”

Derek stares at the wall, his wolf shredding his stomach with each minute that passes.

*

He gets woken up by the door buzzer. Startled awake, he drops the book he’s been reading on the floor, cracking his knee against the coffee table. He’s not expecting anyone—from what Cora said, everyone he knows is out with her—so when he approaches the door and there’s a familiar scent that makes his wolf leap about, he swallows around the lump in his throat.

Stiles raps his knuckles against the door. “I know you’re in there, Derek. Let me in. And don’t even think about jumping out of the window to get away from me.”

His wolf is huffing, protesting that they’d never do such a thing, but Derek kind of likes the idea. Instead, he gives in and opens the door, not prepared for the way Stiles storms into the apartment and flops onto the couch.

“Uh,” he says, standing by the still open door.

“Close the door, Derek,” Stiles says, looking over at him. “I don’t think you want your neighbours to hear any of this.”

Which, okay, point. His neighbours are already deeply suspicious of him, and it’s only his tentative friendship with the Sheriff that has stopped them calling the police. Stiles has sprawled out along the couch, his feet up against the armrest and Derek shakes his head, leans against the wall. “Why are you here?”

“We’re going down that route?”

“There’s no route, Stiles. It’s a question.”

Stiles sits up and shifts down the couch, kneeling on the cushions, his hands resting on the armrest and, fuck, that’s even worse. The veins on his forearms are showing, the subtle muscle definition and, no, Derek isn’t going to do this.

“Why are you ignoring me?”

“I’m not ignoring you. I’m talking to you.”

“Semantics. You have been ignoring me. Ever since the full moon, and before that even. Ever since you—” Stiles’ cheeks flush and Derek smothers how interested his wolf is in that. “Since you licked my face.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Ignore me? Or lick my face? Because the second one I get, but the first?” Stiles lowers his head, staring at the floor. “That hurt, okay? I thought—”

“Thought what?”

Stiles looks up, locking eyes with Derek, his jaw set stubbornly and Derek’s wolf howls it’s pleasure at finding someone who can go toe to toe with him. “You know what I thought. I’m not going to say it until you use your words.”

“It’s going to creep you out.”

“So?” Stiles waves a hand at him. “Since when has that stopped you?”

Derek smirks before pushing himself off the wall and walking over, sitting at the other end of the couch. Rolling his eyes at the deliberate distance, Stiles makes no move to close it when he turns around and sits with his back against the armrest, eyes fixed on Derek. “There’s something my mom told me when I was younger,” he starts. “That sometimes, if you’re lucky, you find someone who... _appeals_ to both your human side and your wolf. It doesn’t happen to every werewolf, and it’s rare to find with humans, but—”

“Oh,” Stiles says quietly. “So I—to you?” Derek nods. “Huh.”

“I’m not making it sound like a choice,” Derek says frustratedly. He runs a hand through his hair. “It _is_ a choice. It’s not something you—it happens when you _know_ someone. When you connect with someone enough for the wolf to want to know them as well. People I’ve dated before, the wolf never wanted to know them. You—” Derek breaks off and shakes his head, a wry smile on his face. “I’ve had to fight my wolf every step of the way.”

Stiles nods, pulling his legs to his chest. “Okay. Now you’re going to explain why you ran away.”

The wolf is curled up, content with the attention Stiles is giving them. Derek shrugs in response. “Because you don’t have to have this life. Because you can live your life without me.”

“And you think I want to?” Stiles drops his legs, crossing them and leaning forward. “You actually think I—are you an idiot?”

“That’s the consensus.”

Stiles laughs, his throat exposed and, fuck, if Derek and his wolf aren’t on the same page with how they feel about that. “Cora?” Stiles asks.

“Yeah.”

“She’s right, you know.” Stiles rolls his eyes in response to Derek’s glare. “You said it’s a choice for you, right? What makes you so sure it’s not a choice for me? That if I choose to want this, want _you_ , there’s something wrong with that? Don’t answer that. Answer this; if I go to an out of state school, would you stop me?”

“No. I want you to be happy.”

“If I want you to come with me, would you?”

Derek looks up at him, his wolf rumbling at the idea of going with Stiles, at being with Stiles always. “You’d want that?”

“Yes.” Stiles moves down the couch, sliding closer to Derek. “You’re an idiot,” he says, his mouth brushing against Derek’s cheek. “If this is a choice for you, it’s a choice for me. And I’m choosing.”

Derek turns his head, their lips meeting and his wolf is howling with delight as Stiles’ tongue impatiently licks its way into the heat of Derek’s mouth, his hands slowly carding through Derek’s hair. He can’t help the rumble in his chest as he hauls Stiles onto his lap, legs falling open as Stiles clings to him, peppering kisses across his face. He delicately kisses Derek’s eyelids and Derek laughs, his hands slipping underneath Stiles’ shirt to greedily run his fingers along the smooth skin, skimming against the waistband of Stiles’ jeans.

“Can we?” Stiles moves with intent, brushing a hand against Derek’s covered crotch, deft fingers fiddling with the fly as soon as Derek nods, before he sucks a mark against Stiles’ throat, grinning when his wolf demands more marking. He licks across to the other side, worrying at the skin there, nipping when Stiles lets out a groan, muttering that he’s going to repay Derek. “Lick this,” Stiles says, sticking his hand in front of Derek’s mouth. Raising an eyebrow, Derek runs his tongue all over Stiles’ hand, his wolf smug at the way Stiles’ eyes glaze over.

The smugness fades slightly when Stiles wraps his spit-slick hand around Derek’s cock and it’s all Derek can do not to buck up and knock Stiles off his lap. Head falling back against the couch, Derek whines in tandem with his wolf. Stiles’ grip is _right_ , his long clever fingers taking cues from the noises Derek makes, the pulse in his throat and—fuck—Stiles may be the end of him. The back of his t shirt is soaked through, and he takes pleasure in watching Stiles; face screwed up in concentration, little sounds slipping from his mouth as he works Derek. When Stiles’ thumb brushes over the slit, smearing pre-come around, he grins wickedly and brings his hand up to his mouth, soft pink tongue licking it up.

“Fuck, Stiles.”

“Not on the couch,” Stiles says breathlessly, his hand wrapped back around Derek, leaning forward and kissing him. “Cora will castrate us.”

“You think she’s not going to smell this?” Derek mumbles against Stiles’ mouth, capturing his bottom lip and sucking it into his mouth. His mouth drops open when Stiles twists his wrist, changing the rhythm and, this is _it_ for Derek, for his wolf. He’s never going to want anything other than Stiles on top of him, underneath him, _next_ to him, for the rest of his life. Gasping against Stiles’ neck, his thighs start to shake, familiar heat in his groin gathering and all it takes is Stiles tugging hard at his hair for Derek to come, spilling over Stiles’ hand, drops hitting their shirts.

He sinks back into the couch, Stiles falling with him, face buried in Derek’s neck as he wipes his hand off on Derek’s jeans. Derek nuzzles at Stiles’ hair, slipping one hand in the waistband of Stiles pants, fingers teasing at the soft flesh. His wolf is pawing at him, needing to taste Stiles, and Derek’s all too happy to give in to him this time. Nudging Stiles’ thighs, he slips down on the cushions a little. “Kneel,” he says, grinning at the baffled look Stiles shoots him. It only takes Derek unfastening Stiles’ pants for Stiles to get with the programme, his mouth forming a soft O as he stares at Derek.

His wolf goes frantic at the noises Stiles makes when Derek takes his cock in his mouth. The taste of Stiles floods his senses and he grips Stiles’ ass, pulling him forward, determined to take more, to get his length all the way down his damn throat until Stiles is all he can taste. Derek’s dimly aware of soft curse words slipping from Stiles’ mouth—one hand gently resting in his hair—and he pulls off for a moment, flicks his eyes up at Stiles and says, “you can pull my hair, you know,” before swirling his tongue around the head and diving back down.

Nose pressed up against the coarse dark curls, Derek swallows, gratified when Stiles lets out a guttural groan. “Holy _shit_ , Derek,” Stiles pants out. “I—don’t fucking choke yourself on my dick.” One of Stiles’ hands touches Derek’s cheek, feeling the hollow of his cheek and he cries out when Derek pulls off, licking at his balls, gently sucking one into his mouth. “Not—not going to last longer,” Stiles mutters, dark eyelashes fluttering against flushed, sweaty skin.

Derek wraps one hand around the base of Stiles’ cock as he teases the head with his tongue, occasionally taking more, unable to resist the heavy weight of him against his mouth. When Stiles’ hips stutter, Derek wraps his lips around his cock and holds him steady, both hands on Stiles’ hips as he jerks, coming in Derek’s mouth. Derek greedily swallows, both sides of him ecstatic at being able to finally taste all of Stiles.

He doesn’t pull off until Stiles starts whimpering, pushing at his shoulders, and when Derek lets go, Stiles collapses in his lap. Derek gathers him up, kissing his slack lips until Stiles smiles and starts to respond, his hands running underneath Derek’s sweat soaked t shirt, pinching at Derek’s skin and laughing when Derek squirms.

“That was ridiculously hot,” Stiles breathes out against Derek’s mouth.

“Yeah.” Derek kisses his face and holds him, hoping like hell Cora doesn’t come home now.

His wolf curls up, his satisfaction evident as he yawns and falls asleep. Derek snorts, kissing Stiles’ jaw. They’ll make it to bed. Eventually.

*

“I have rules,” Stiles says the next morning, half a frosted blueberry Pop Tart in his mouth.

“Yeah?” Derek responds, arm snaking around Stiles’ waist, sneaking a bite of the Pop Tart Stiles is waving in the air.

“Hey, okay, rule number one: no stealing Stiles’ Pop Tarts.”

“Really?” Derek says, spinning Stiles’ stool around and leaning in, pressing their sticky mouths together. He hums happily when Stiles drops the Pop Tart, hands twining around Derek’s neck as they kiss. “You had rules,” Derek smirks when he pulls away.

“Rules. Yeah. I have rules.” Stiles stares up at Derek, fingers resting at the nape of Derek’s neck. “I, oh, no more bringing me dead animals, dude. I don’t like it and my dad is going to get pissed if he opens the door to a collection of dead Thumpers. Also, no hiding your wolfy instincts from me. You need something, you tell me.”

“That it?”

“That’s it.” He rubs his hand against Derek’s skin and smiles. “I told you I was making a choice. I choose you. I choose everything that comes with you.”

“Just not dead animals.”

Stiles snorts and drops his hand from Derek’s neck, tangling their fingers together instead. “Do you know what it took for me to ignore the dead bloody deer that night? Do you understand how much love it took for me to lie down with you instead of chasing after Lydia and Allison and demanding a lift home? I’m not doing that again. If your wolf wants to provide for me, he can bring me food I’ll actually eat.”

“We can do that,” Derek says, his wolf practically rolling over at the suggestion of Stiles letting them provide for him.

“Okay then.” Stiles tugs on Derek’s hand. “Come here.”

Derek willingly ducks his head, teasingly brushing his mouth against Stiles’ until Stiles laughs and pulls him down. His open laughing mouth lets Derek suck at his bottom lip before slipping his tongue inside, Stiles’ arms sliding around Derek’s neck again. It’s no effort at all for Derek to slide his hands underneath Stiles’ thighs and lift him up, walking backwards until they hit the kitchen wall. They kiss over and over again, Derek’s mouth travelling along the moles dotted on Stiles’ face, Stiles giddily running his lips against Derek’s rough stubble.

He’s so caught up in Stiles, he doesn’t hear the door open, doesn’t hear Cora walk in, and doesn’t notice anything until Stiles stiffens against him. Derek shakes his head to get rid of the fog and looks behind Stiles, seeing Cora standing there with her iPhone aimed at them.

“Cora...”

“You think I’m not using this as blackmail material, Derek?”

Derek gently places Stiles on the floor and makes to go after her, but she runs away towards her room, slamming the door shut.

“Hey.” Stiles grabs his arm. “There’s a better way to get back at her,” he says with a smirk.

“How?”

“How do you feel about me blowing you against the fridge?”

Derek crowds Stiles against the wall, kissing him deeply. His wolf runs around, jumping with joy at the choice they’ve made, that they’ve managed to get _Stiles_ to be theirs, to be with them forever. He pulls away, hand cupping the back of Stiles’ head. “You’re the best choice I’ve ever made. The best choice I’ll ever make.”

“Love you too,” Stiles says, smiling wide, his heartbeat steady.

Derek’s wolf howls in satisfaction at the words, and Derek only just resists joining in. He pushes his face against Stiles’ neck, inhaling his scent. “I love you,” he says quietly, enjoying Stiles’ hands against his bare skin. “I love you.”


End file.
